


Move

by sidebyside_archivist



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-01
Updated: 2001-11-01
Packaged: 2020-06-24 05:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidebyside_archivist/pseuds/sidebyside_archivist
Summary: Kirk is moved by Spock's love-making. Reply to kira-nerys' "If you move, I'll come" first line challenge.





	Move

**Author's Note:**

> Note from LadyKardasi and Sahviere, the archivists: this story was originally archived at [Side by Side](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Side_by_Side_\(Star_Trek:_TOS_zine\)) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. We tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Side by Side’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sidebyside/profile).

“If you move, I’ll come.” Spock spoke deliberately, almost meditatively, as if he were embarking upon a calm and considered analysis of the phrase in all its shades of meaning.

Kirk gasped, then gasped again as a hot tongue flicked at the pulse point of his neck. Lying like this, unable to see anything but his own arm curved around his head, he experienced the caress as an isolated event generated by a small, wet, writhing and altogether maddening entity -- an alien creature possessed of a will all its own. “Do you know . . . how sexy that is?”

Spock’s low voice murmured in his ear. “Specify.”

That one word was almost as electrifying as the five that had preceded it. What was it about Spock’s voice that did this to him? No other lover had ever aroused him so with words alone. Well, not exactly alone, he thought. The hot, hard body pressed to his back and the hot, hard organ spitting him might have something to do with it, too. His own cock, trapped beneath him, remained untouched and aching for the caress of a hand, a mouth, or a moist, tight-- He willed his mind to focus on an answer to Spock’s request. “That language. From your mouth. So sexy,” he repeated. And he couldn’t help it. He squirmed.

Strong hands gripped his wrists not quite bruisingly and his lover’s torso pressed against him, forcing his stillness. “Perhaps I have been unclear. Do not move.”

Lying face down against sheets damp with sweat, Kirk beat back the impulse to do just what he had been warned not to do -- to move, any way he could, and fling both himself and Spock over the edge. “I’ll . . . try.” He breathed shallowly through his mouth and willed himself to immobility. Neither of them moved; Kirk was rigid with the strain of resisting the irresistible. Gradually his muscles relaxed under the heat of Spock’s body. He sighed, feeling himself melt into the mattress as the urge to rush to completion receded. 

Spock shifted then, but only to fit himself more tightly against Kirk. The weight should have been oppressive but Kirk relished it. He inventoried the sensory components of his voluntary captivity: the slightly spicy, slightly sharp scent of Spock at his nostrils; the chlorotic tint of Spock’s arm over his tawny one; the steady susurration of Spock’s breath on his neck; the light and rapid beat of Spock’s heart against his ribs; the silken caress of Spock’s chest hair along his back; the firm, dry touch of Spock’s fingers around his wrists; the lean strength of Spock’s legs, longer than his own, atop his thighs and calves; the pressure and fullness of Spock’s thick cock in his ass. Spock in him and on him and around him. “Mmm. Feels good, Spock, being under you like this.”

“Yes,” Spock murmured. “Feel my skin against yours. You are delightfully cool, t’hy’la, refreshing as Shi’Kahr’s evening breezes.”

Kirk smiled. He had been to Shi’Kahr. To him those ‘evening breezes’ were searing winds and hardly refreshing.

“You nourish me, as the first taste of food after a long fast. You slake my thirst, as fresh water after many days in the desert.”

Who would believe that his logical first officer, the most practical and unsentimental of men, could speak this way? “Who are you, and what have you done with the real Spock?”

Was Spock -- laughing? Oh yes, it was unmistakable, though nearly silent. Before he had time to register more than a jolt of astonishment at this unprecedented event, the laughter had passed. He felt Spock’s tongue lap up a drop of sweat trickling down his neck, and then the press of Spock’s lips at the bony prominence of his shoulder. “I am no impostor. You move me to poetry, t’hy’la.”

Kirk remembered Spock’s meld with the Medusan ambassador Kollos. ‘She walks in beauty, like the night. . . . Does it surprise you that I’ve read Byron?’ Perhaps Bones had been surprised, but he had not. He had always known that Spock possessed a finely developed, though well camouflaged, aesthetic sensibility. “And to laughter, too, evidently.”

“An expression of joy.”

“Spock! An emotion?”

“You know that Vulcans do not lack emotions; we merely control them. Bondmates sometimes share emotions with one another. It is a most intimate exchange, more intimate than the sexual act. Though we are not yet bondmates, it seemed appropriate to share my feelings with you.”

Kirk felt some nameless emotion welling up in him, something altogether larger and more profound than joy. Spock trusted him so completely that he would share the part of him that was even more private, more intimate, than sex. Nothing had ever touched him so deeply. 

He thought he might cry. That couldn’t be; he never cried. “Very appropriate, Spock. Thank you.” His voice came out tight and hoarse.

“Is something wrong?”

He couldn’t speak, so he shook his head, glad that Spock couldn’t see his face. He didn’t know what to do with this happy/touched/sad/joyous/aching/loving feeling. Though he tried desperately to choke them back, finally he couldn’t do anything except let the tears come. What a reversal -- Spock displaying his naked emotions, and he trying to hide his.

“Jim.” Spock’s hand released his wrist and smoothed up his arm, over his shoulder and neck and onto his cheek. Gentle fingers found the moisture there, stilled. “You are crying. Please, t’hy’la. Tell me why.”

Kirk’s only response was to shake his head again. How could he explain to Spock that which he didn’t understand himself? His tears fell silently.

Spock moved his arms and started to lever himself up and away. Kirk reached out and grabbed blindly at him, feeling Spock’s softening organ begin to slip out of him. “Don’t,” he said, and Spock settled back down against him, into him. “Hold me.” He hardly recognized his voice for the raw need in it. He drew Spock’s arms around and under him. “Hold me. Fuck me.”

“Jim --”

“Do it!”

Spock rocked his hips once, gently, against Kirk’s buttocks.

“Harder.”

Spock complied, thrusting more vigorously.

“God, yes,” Kirk groaned. “Harder.” He dragged his legs out from beneath Spock’s and parted them, drawing up his knees to spread himself open and facilitate a deeper penetration. Then he raised his arms to his head, resting his forehead on his clenched fists. “Harder, Spock.”

Kirk urged his partner on, pressing back against him at every stroke. “Deeper. Harder. Give me more. Touch me, hold me . . . oh . . .”

Spock’s right hand grasped Kirk’s throbbing member as his left hand cradled the sac beneath. Once, twice he rubbed over the glans with his thumb. On the third pass he continued the motion to the shaft, running along the big vein with his thumbnail, and it was enough to trigger the explosion.

Kirk came with a shout, clenching and spasming around Spock’s organ with every spurt. Toward the end he felt Spock join him -- heard it, too, even though Spock usually came silently. With his last spasm, Kirk fell forward in a boneless heap. He gave a little murmur of loss as he felt Spock gently withdraw from his ass and roll onto his back, pulling Kirk back into his arms as he turned. Kirk laid his head on Spock’s chest, burrowing into the warmth and security of his lover’s embrace. Once again Spock’s fingers moved on his eyes and cheeks, wiping away the last of his tears.

“Can you tell me now, why you were crying?”

‘Can you,’ not ‘will you.’ How well Spock understood him. “I’m not sure, exactly. I don’t cry, Spock. You know that. Not since . . . I don’t know, not for a long time anyway. But hearing you say that you were sharing something with me even more intimate than sex -- it got to me.”

“Evidently.”

“And then . . . I wanted every bit of you, wanted to feel you everywhere, in my ass and my gut and my chest and hands and mouth and brain. In every cell.” He shivered. Spock reached down and pulled the blanket over them. “I couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t get you deep enough inside me.”

“I think I understand.”

“Maybe you’ll fist me, one day.”

“If it would please you.” Spock regarded him calmly. “But even that penetration, deep as it is, would not give you what you truly desire.”

“Which is?”

“To share your innermost self with me, as I shall with you, through the total penetration of the bond.”

“You know how much I want that.”

“Yes. Perhaps our decision to wait was unwise.”

“We should talk about it again. Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Of course.”

“So I move you to poetry, do I?” Kirk murmured, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Indeed.” And Kirk could just hear, teasing at the fringes of his consciousness, the words that put a smile on his face as he drifted off to sleep. “You move me to love.”


End file.
